


Adhæsit cum me

by StevetheIcecube



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anorexia, Band Fic, Collaboration, Depression, Don't worry this is all Tony, F/F, Lots of slash, M/M, Multiple Personality Disorder, except, that's Natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StevetheIcecube/pseuds/StevetheIcecube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While high school may seem bad, performing arts high school was worse. At the Southern High Institution of Entertainment, Literature and Dance, the drama leaps off the stage and into the lives of Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark and Maria Hill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adhæsit cum me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration between myself and a Fanfiction author and one of my best friends, Jllen, or Paint Splat.

Steve groaned as his alarm clock beeped mercilessly at him from his bedside table. Why had he set it again? It was still the summer break!

"Steve, you need to get up! It's your first day at your new school!" His mum called.

Oh, great. He'd forgotten about that. He'd gotten a place at the local performing arts school, which was, as far as he knew, very difficult, because he hadn't gotten in the year before. He was taking an acting course. He might be a little bit behind, seeing as a lot of the people there had already been there for a year.

Grumbling, he pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. He checked the clock, surprised to find that it was 8:15. He'd need to hurry up if he was going to get to school slightly early to find the office and get his schedule and meet with his guide, who'd be showing him around the school and then basically having to hang around with him for a month. He grabbed a small bowl of cereal and ate it as quickly as he could.

The school didn't have a uniform, so Steve was in clothes that were largely casual, but not anything ratty that he wears all the time at home. His mum smiled at him as he grabbed his coat, she, of course, already ready to take him to school and go to work herself. "Are you ready, Steve?" She asked.

Steve nodded, sure that his voice would betray his nerves. SHIELD was a very prestigious school. Well, with a name that was so long that he couldn't remember it and needed an acronym, it was going to be, wasn't it?

The weather outside was pleasant, well, it would be, it was only September. The drive was quarter of an hour to SHIELD, so he was there ten minutes before the bell was to go for registration. There were only a few people around, and they were mostly just talking excitedly in small huddles, greeting friends and such, Steve presumed. He refused the hug from his mum, saying that he wasn't a baby anymore, and headed in the direction of reception. He'd only been once, but he knew where that was, at least.

The buildings all around him were in great condition. It was a bit imposing, what with how his old school had been a dump. But fortunately he did know how to find reception, so he didn't have that horribly embarrassing experience of asking someone where a place is. One of the receptionists smiled at him as he opened the door.

"Hello, I'm new here, I'm Steve Rogers." He said, and she nodded, sifting through a pile of papers and pulling one out.

"Right, Steve, this is your schedule, just wait here for your guide." She looked down at the paper for a moment as she handed it to him and winced. "You may be here for a while. I have no idea why he's been chosen as your guide, he's late for school most days. Not exactly a good example nor is he very nice to...pretty much everyone."

"May I ask his name?"

"Oh, yes, his name is Anthony. Anthony Stark."

*A* (This is my epic line break. You have no idea what the A stands for.)

The playground was nearing on empty, only a few stragglers left behind as everyone else got to class. Natasha took her time, chewing on bubble-gum as she crossed the tarmac and made her way towards reception to get her schedule for the new school year.

Her boots clicked on the floor as the sliding doors opened and the receptionist greeted her with a glare. Natasha resisted the urge to smirk back and kept her poker face on.

"Natasha Romanoff, looks like you're just about on time- again. Tell me, do you students purposefully try to make me break down?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Casely." Natasha blinked innocently. She winked at the receptionist then turned around notice a new boy sitting on one of the navy blue plush chairs awkwardly.

"Don't worry, she's always this grumpy." she told him. He smiled shyly back. "This is Steve Rogers," Miss Casely introduced her. "He'll be in some of your classes this year."

"Speaking of classes-" she begins, and then Miss Casely handed her her timetable.

"Has Stark arrived yet?" she asked, putting it in her bag. "I need to talk to him about band rehearsals this semester."

"Late." snarled the receptionist. "As usual."

Natasha sighed and ran a hand through her red hair. "Figures. Oh well. I'll tie him up later and yell at him. What a wonderful start to the term."

Just then the warning bell rang, meaning students had better 'get to their classes now or so help me we'll hang you from the school flag by your underwear' or so says their lovely headmaster Nick Fury.

She turned to leave, unzipping her black leather jacket as she went.

"Take that gum out!" called Miss Casely after him.

Natasha smiled sweetly, blew a bubble, then winked at Steve and left reception.

*A* (XD seriously what does it stand for.)

She put her feet up on her desk as their cover teacher tried to maintain some order. Their French teacher from last year had pulled a tendon in their foot- Natasha has no idea how they managed to do that- and now they have some random replacement who clearly has no idea how to handle them.

She observes carefully and then notices Stark in the corner grumpily sitting next to Steve Rogers, who she met in reception. Tony must be his guide then.

Poor boy.

She silently makes her way over there and grabs Tony's arm, sitting on his desk.

"I need to talk to you at lunch about band rehearsals this term." she says, crossing one leg over the other.

"Why didn't you come talk to me this morning?" he asks and she rolls her eyes.

"Because you were late. As usual."

"And you weren't?" he counters and she tightens her grip on his arm.

"Alright, alright! Anyway, I can't do lunch since I have to show Boy Scout over here around. We're attached at the hip for a while." he smirks.

Natasha chews the skin on her bottom lip. "I'll talk to you after school then. I needed some practice anyway. Oh, hi Steve." she waves at him slightly and he smiles back.

"Hello Natasha." Steve replies and Tony's eyes widen.

"You two know each other?" he asks, and Steve nods.

"We met this morning in reception." he says.

Just then, their vice principal Phil Coulson enters the room and things suddenly go quiet. The substitute collapses in her chair.

Vice Principal Coulson is not a man to be messed with.

His eyes scan the room then finally fix on Natasha. He is silent for a moment.

"Back in your seat, Romanoff. And Stark, wipe that smirk off your face." Coulson says, and they comply.

"Yes sir." they say in sync.

*A* (Back again!)

Tony woke up with a throbbing headache at the usual time, 5AM. It wasn't his choice to wake up at that ungodly hour, but what with his nightmares, he really had no choice.

Damn his stupid father and his stupid high status that meant kidnap and torture. Damn clinical Depression, and what more, Major Depressive Disorder and Multiple Personality Disorder.

Oh, fuck it all. Fuck his life.

That was how most days seemed to start now. Wake up from nightmares at roughly 5AM. Try and force himself out of bed for an hour or so, get dressed, eat breakfast, and work on his autobiography before school. He hadn't come up with a title yet, and it was barely past the first chapter, which had multiple gaps for information from his parents and their friends that he feared he would never get.

Then he'd give up on writing after a bit, then move on to designs. He hardly had any time for them between school, therapy (which he hated except when Bruce was there), writing, his parent's celebrity lives and his depression. They weren't much yet. Just a few schematics for little things that could help him, like a small robot that would do things like clean his room up a bit, turn his computer off when he forgot, pick up his pencils. That kind of thing.

He got completely absorbed in his designs, and the next time he looked up at the clock, he had ten minutes until he had to be at reception for some new kid. Being forced to spend time with someone is about as bad as it gets, and Tony would know.

And damn it the walk to school took twenty minutes.

Feeling slightly like he was going to start crying at the unfairness of it all, he stuffed his schematics into his backpack and ran out of the house.

He ran down the road until he was out of breath, thankfully having cut down his lateness by a few minutes at least, and incredibly glad that it wasn't raining or cold.

He stumbled into the empty playground, checking the clock tower for the time. Damn, he was five minutes late. Walking as quickly as he could to reception, he got a disapproving look from one of the teachers who was now out on the playground.

Opening the door to reception, he got a dirty look from one of the receptionists. "Did you miss me, miss?" He asked, a hint of snark in his tone.

"Mr Stark, late again. How many times has it been, now?"

"I've been on time five times." Tony diverted his attention to the guy he was meant to be showing around.

A tall, muscly blonde. No problems with him, as you could see from his pretty, angular face and bright blue eyes. Huh. Practically the opposite of himself, then. "Hey," He greeted, "I'm Tony Stark, all round pain in just about everyone's ass. Pleased to meet you."

The guy's glare was cold. "I'm Steve Rogers."

Tony sighed dramatically. "Am I the only interesting person around here? It seems so, sometimes."

"Enough chit chat, Anthony." The receptionist said. "You're already late. Take Mr Rogers on a tour and then take him to the class he's in at the time. You have to meet him in the playground at both break and lunch."

"Well," Tony said as they left reception, "It appears that you seem to be stuck with me."

*A*

Steve sighed. Trust his luck, to get a snarky guy about three inches shorter than him to be his guide.

"This is the playground." Tony said. "This is where we cross to get to classes and stuff. Over there is reception, then to the right there's the food practical block, then the dance block, the literature block, maths and science, languages, drama, music, design tech and humanities. You'll get a locker at some point soon, you have to pay a few pounds deposit which you don't get back if the locker gets wrecked like mine did last semester, so totally not my fault that someone lit a match near that thing." He said all of this practically without breathing, leaving Steve feeling slightly dizzy, and with a lingering feeling that this guy was some kind of maniac. "I'll be able to show you round a little more and stuff at break and lunch if you really want me to."

"So, that's it?" Steve asked.

"Well, most people take way longer but I honestly can't be bothered because I don't want to be late for my language class because my teachers are always impressed with my ability despite that in most language lessons I'm actually speaking Italian."  
"O-okay."

"Hey, don't worry your pretty ass about it. Most people can never keep up. Except when I'm not what I call myself." Tony's voice seemed slightly more serious at the last statement, but all Steve noticed was Tony's comment about his ass. He could feel his cheeks heating up. Tony looked up at him and smirked. "Aw, did I make you embarrassed? Ignore me, everyone in this school knows I flirt with anything that speaks a coherent sentence."

"Can we just get to French or wherever we're meant to be?"

"Your call, rosy."


End file.
